Eleven
Ruble Noon awoke in his hotel room in the cool hours of morning, and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He had the decision clear in his mind that he would return to the Rafter D. Once there, he would face the issues as they developed.
If he had been the man called Jonas Mandrin, he did not know it or feel it. If he had had a wife and child, he had no memory of them. Was his amnesia a curtain to protect him from the destruction that might be wrought by shock and grief?
If he was Jonas Mandrin, had he come west to escape from his memories? Or had he hoped to find the men who had killed his family? If it was the latter case they were safe from him, for he had no details, nothing.
But how had Judge Niland guessed he was Mandrin merely by the use of the name? Or had he known Mandrin at some earlier time, or known of him?
He swung his feet to the floor and dressed quickly, trimmed his beard, and combed his hair. In the dining room he ate a quick breakfast, picked up a lunch he had packed for him, and headed out of town at a fast gallop.
He could have caught the tram at Las Graces, but decided against it. If they were watching the railroad, that would be the logical place. He rode hard, swapped horses at a small ranch, and continued on. The gray he picked up in exchange for the roan was a short-coupled horse with a rough gait, but he was built for stamina.
It was just past sundown when he heard the sound of a cowbell, and topping out on a bluff near the river, he saw a ranch nestled among some cottonwoods on a small creek that ran toward the Rio Grande.
He circled around to the trail down the bluff and rode to the ranch. By the time he reached the place it was dark, but there was a light in the window, which was extinguished when a dog began barking furiously. He drew up and hailed the house, first in English, then in Spanish.
When there was no reply he walked his horse forward into the ranchyard. He stopped there, and called out again.
Someone under the cottonwoods near the house spoke. "What do you wish, senor?"
"A meal, and a horse you'll swap me for this one."
"Where do you go?"
"Socorro, amigo."
The Mexican walked out from under the trees. "You may ride up, senor, but my son ... he is under the trees with a Winchester."
"You are wise, amigo. Many bad hombres ride these days."
He swung down and turned the horse so that they could see him more clearly. "It is a good horse," he said, "but I ride far and I have enemies."
The Mexican shrugged. "A man can be judged by those who hate him. Si, it is a good horse, a very good horse, and you have come far."
The Mexican turned his head toward the house and called, "A plate and a cup, mamacita." Turning back to Ruble Noon, he said, "Come, senor."
Noon hesitated. "I would bring my rifle, amigo. It is agreed?"
"Of course." Then he added, "My son will see to the horse."
They walked to the house together, and Ruble removed his hat as he entered, bowing to the Mexican woman who stood at the stove. "I am too much trouble, senora," he said.
"It is no trouble. Sit down, if you will."
The frijoles were hot and filling; he ate two helpings of them, several tortillas, and some roast beef.
"You were hungry, senor," the woman said.
He smiled. "To eat a meal you have cooked, senora, is the greatest pleasure. And if I had not been hungry the taste would have made me so."
She beamed at him, and refilled his coffee cup. He sat back in his chair. "Your road is not traveled," he said, "or else the wind has blown away the tracks."
The Mexican shrugged. "The sand and the wind ... you know how it is."
"The gray horse," Ruble Noon suggested ... "I will give you a paper ... a bill of sale. But if anyone should follow me, I do not want the horse seen. Do you understand?"
"There is a pasture among the willows down by the river, senor, not a place to be found. I will keep the horse there."
Ruble Noon got to his feet, reluctant to leave the friendliness of these simple
Ruble Noon awoke in his hotel room in the cool hours of morning, and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He had the decision clear in his mind that he would return to the Rafter D. Once there, he would face the issues as they developed.
If he had been the man called Jonas Mandrin, he did not know it or feel it. If he had had a wife and child, he had no memory of them. Was his amnesia a curtain to protect him from the destruction that might be wrought by shock and grief?
If he was Jonas Mandrin, had he come west to escape from his memories? Or had he hoped to find the men who had killed his family? If it was the latter case they were safe from him, for he had no details, nothing.
But how had Judge Niland guessed he was Mandrin merely by the use of the name? Or had he known Mandrin at some earlier time, or known of him?
He swung his feet to the floor and dressed quickly, trimmed his beard, and combed his hair. In the dining room he ate a quick breakfast, picked up a lunch he had packed for him, and headed out of town at a fast gallop.
He could have caught the tram at Las Graces, but decided against it. If they were watching the railroad, that would be the logical place. He rode hard, swapped horses at a small ranch, and continued on. The gray he picked up in exchange for the roan was a short-coupled horse with a rough gait, but he was built for stamina.
It was just past sundown when he heard the sound of a cowbell, and topping out on a bluff near the river, he saw a ranch nestled among some cottonwoods on a small creek that ran toward the Rio Grande.
He circled around to the trail down the bluff and rode to the ranch. By the time he reached the place it was dark, but there was a light in the window, which was extinguished when a dog began barking furiously. He drew up and hailed the house, first in English, then in Spanish.
When there was no reply he walked his horse forward into the ranchyard. He stopped there, and called out again.
Someone under the cottonwoods near the house spoke. "What do you wish, senor?"
"A meal, and a horse you'll swap me for this one."
"Where do you go?"
"Socorro, amigo."
The Mexican walked out from under the trees. "You may ride up, senor, but my son ... he is under the trees with a Winchester."
"You are wise, amigo. Many bad hombres ride these days."
He swung down and turned the horse so that they could see him more clearly. "It is a good horse," he said, "but I ride far and I have enemies."
The Mexican shrugged. "A man can be judged by those who hate him. Si, it is a good horse, a very good horse, and you have come far."
The Mexican turned his head toward the house and called, "A plate and a cup, mamacita." Turning back to Ruble Noon, he said, "Come, senor."
Noon hesitated. "I would bring my rifle, amigo. It is agreed?"
"Of course." Then he added, "My son will see to the horse."
They walked to the house together, and Ruble removed his hat as he entered, bowing to the Mexican woman who stood at the stove. "I am too much trouble, senora," he said.
"It is no trouble. Sit down, if you will."
The frijoles were hot and filling; he ate two helpings of them, several tortillas, and some roast beef.
"You were hungry, senor," the woman said.
He smiled. "To eat a meal you have cooked, senora, is the greatest pleasure. And if I had not been hungry the taste would have made me so."
She beamed at him, and refilled his coffee cup. He sat back in his chair. "Your road is not traveled," he said, "or else the wind has blown away the tracks."
The Mexican shrugged. "The sand and the wind ... you know how it is."
"The gray horse," Ruble Noon suggested ... "I will give you a paper ... a bill of sale. But if anyone should follow me, I do not want the horse seen. Do you understand?"
"There is a pasture among the willows down by the river, senor, not a place to be found. I will keep the horse there."
Ruble Noon got to his feet, reluctant to leave the friendliness of these simple
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